


My heart is beating like a hammer

by acidpop25



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attack, Pre-Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-12
Updated: 2011-12-12
Packaged: 2017-10-27 06:29:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/292650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acidpop25/pseuds/acidpop25
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ariadne suffers from panic attacks, but she doesn't have to go through it alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My heart is beating like a hammer

Ariadne sucks in a slow breath. Her chest still feels tight, but her breathing is evening out, and the dizziness will dissipate soon. _You're okay, you're okay_ , she tells herself, sitting shaking and curled up on the floor of her modest apartment. Her medicine will finish working soon, she had choked the small white pill past her closing throat when the attack started.

They've been worse ever since the inception job, more frequent and more crippling. Ariadne doesn't know if it has something to do with the work or if it's from stopping therapy, unable to tell her psychologist even a fraction of what she is thinking, what she is feeling, what she has been through. She hadn't wanted to stop, but what choice did she have? Her mind is a criminal, and the inception job hadn't been her last. Ariadne can't imagine living without the rush of creating a whole new world anymore, and thanks to Arthur and Eames she doesn't have to try. Cobb is spending time with his children, retired, he says, though they all suspect he'll come back eventually, but the other two are still in the game.

Ariadne glances at her watch– ten minutes before she has to meet them for a test run. Fortunately, it's a short walk, and her tremors have stopped. _You're okay_ , she reminds herself again, firmly, and gets to her feet and grabs her backpack, throwing a granola bar and a water bottle in along with her designs before heading out the door. She still doesn't feel entirely steady, but she's functional, which is what matters, and the cool breeze in her hair as she walks helps to calm her down.

She arrives more or less on time, or at least on time enough that Arthur hasn't called her to demand where she is. Working closely with one another has developed a friendship between them, but it doesn't make Arthur any less exacting. He is leaning over Ariadne's desk when she walks in, hands bracing him on the edge while he studies her blueprints. He is a perfect profile of razor-sharp lines in the light streaming in through the window, or he would be if Eames weren't half draped over his back under the pretense of looking over his shoulder.

"Don't hump him over my drawings, Eames," Ariadne says by way of greeting as she approaches. Eames just grins at her, totally unapologetic, and slides off of Arthur. She's pretty sure she sees him squeeze his ass before he moves away, though, and the quelling look Arthur shoots in Eames' direction confirms it.

"Can't take him anywhere," Arthur says, straightening. "It looks like you've got a pretty good start. Ready to go under and show us around?"

"Sure thing."

They settle into their chairs, and Eames hooks them up to the PASIV. "Goodnight, loves," he says, and they fall asleep.

* * *

"I like it," Arthur says as they wind their way through the disorienting, funhouse-maze dreamscape Ariadne has created for them, virtually impossible to navigate if you don't already know the layout. It's some of her best work, he thinks, and he tells her so.

"Thanks." She smiles up at him, well past needing anyone's approval but appreciating the praise all the same. "Come up to the top part with me. It's not quite done yet, needs some fine-tuning, but it's done enough for you to get the idea."

Arthur falls into step with her; he has studied her layout well enough to keep up, but suddenly there are footsteps pounding behind them, Ariadne's projections gone violent and mean. They take off at a dead run, up, up, through the tunnels and into the sunlight, and all around them are stares and guns. Ariadne is gasping for breath just behind him, not quite able to match his long strides as they run, and her subconscious is closing in.

"Here!" Arthur hisses, dragging her into the nearest building of a city that does not exist.

They jolt awake when it explodes, and Ariadne's heart is beating a panicked double-time as she grasps for her totem, eyes wide.

"Woah, hey," Eames says, moving to kneel next to her chair and drape an arm over her shoulder. "Just a dream," he reminds her, and Arthur sits up.

"A very violent one," he says, "her subconscious was on the warpath today."

"It was after me, too, and it's _my_ subconscious," she says, petulant but calming down. Arthur and Eames exchange a glance over her shoulder.

"Tell you what, then. How about you take the rest of the day off?" Eames suggests, patting her shoulder before letting go. Ariadne glances at Arthur, who nods.

"It's fine. Eames and I have our own work to do." Arthur clasps her hand briefly, not comfortable with casual touch like Eames is, and the gesture makes her heartbeat skip for reasons that have nothing to do with a panic attack. "Call if you need me."

"I will," she promises, "thanks, Arthur."

Eames settles into her vacated chair while Arthur sets a timer for their kick. "So, when you say warpath..."

"Projections trying to kills us from every angle, buildings exploding. Chaos. Something's got her upset, or at least part of her."

"Aww," Eames croons, only half teasing, "you worried about her, darling?"

"She's Ariadne," Arthur says, as if that explains anything. Actually, Eames reflects, maybe it does.

* * *

They don't talk about it, but they don't venture back into Ariadne's dreams for a while, either. Part of her is relieved, but the larger part is anxious, on edge, worrying about when they'll next try it and what might happen. Of course her own subconscious is attacking her; she should have thought of the possibility before, she's had the attacks for years now.

Her pencil shakes in an unsteady hand as she tries to finish the top story of the funhouse. _No no no_ , she chants internally, but she can feel her throat closing up. She'd made it almost a week since the last panic attack, had dared to think that maybe they'd leave her alone for a while, but here she is, going dizzy from trying to suck in enough air. Ariadne lifts a hand and wipes sweat from her brow, and Arthur comes up to her chair.

"Are you feeling all right?" he asks. "You look a little pale."

Ariadne swallows hard. "Bad headache," she lies past the lump in her throat. "Can I maybe...?"

"Go on," Arthur says, and she doesn't need to be told twice. Her place is walking distance, but she hails a taxi, endures a brief but terrifying ride that leaves her sick and shuddering, and she barely makes it to her bathroom before she gags. Ariadne flushes the toilet and swishes water through her mouth before groping in her medicine cabinet for her anti-anxiety pills and curling up in a ball on the floor to ride it out, trying to remember to breathe.

* * *

"Something's really wrong," Arthur says, looking at Ariadne's empty workspace. A frown creases his forehead, and Eames smooths over the furrowed skin with his thumb. "Ariadne doesn't just skip out on work, she loves this job."

"Do you know where she lives?"

Arthur looks at Eames as if, perhaps, he's a bit slow. "Of course I know where she lives. It's my job to know things."

"Right, okay. So how about we go check up on her?"

"We shouldn't bother–" Arthur begins, but Eames can pretty much _see_ him change his mind. "No, you're right, let's go. It's about a ten minute walk."

It takes a long time for Ariadne to answer the door, and when she does she leans heavily against the frame, looking for all the world like she just wants to sink to the floor. She is pale and breathing fast and shallow, and sweat is beading at her hairline.

"Christ, look at you," Eames says, walking in without being invited, and Arthur follows.

"I'll be okay," she chokes out, but her appearance says otherwise, and she sways worryingly on her feet when she tries to straighten. Arthur catches her and picks her up, carrying her to the sofa and laying her on it. Ariadne curls up into a quivering ball and Arthur kneels on the floor next to the couch, Eames settling beside him a moment later.

"Tell us what's wrong," Arthur coaxes as gently as he knows how, voice gone soft and soothing. He brushes a lock of hair back from her face, and Ariadne blinks wide, frightened eyes at him.

"Panic attack," she says, and nothing more, but Arthur murmurs, " _Oh_ ," and starts rubbing her shoulder.

"Shh. Shh, calm down," he murmurs, leaning close to her ear. Her breaths wheeze in her throat, and Eames jostles Arthur over just enough to wrap strong arms around Ariadne, thin and shaking against him.

"Do you have medicine for them? Something to calm you down?"

Ariadne nods. "Lorazepam. Waiting for it to work."

"Just ride it out then, kitten. You'll be better soon," Eaames reassures her. The three of them stay like that, the men curled around Ariadne, as the symptoms gradually wear off. Her breathing levels, the tremors fade, and she becomes aware both of how close they are and how absolutely disgusting her mouth tastes.

"Um," she says, pushing herself up on an elbow, and Eames and Arthur both sit back enough to let her move carefully upright. "Be right back, guys."

Ariadne goes to the bathroom and brushes her teeth furiously, twice, until her mouth tastes of nothing but artificial mint. When she returns to the couch, she feels suddenly awkward for having broken the comforting closeness, and tension creases her face as she sits. It disappears, though, as the two men bracket her close on both sides. Eames' hand rests at the small of her back, and Arthur's fingers tangle with hers.

"Do they happen often?" he asks softly. His thumb strokes the back of her hand, and Ariadne swallows.

"Yeah," she admits, "but they've gotten worse lately. Uh, that day my dream went after us? I'd had one that morning."

"You should have told us." There is no reprimand in Arthur's tone, just concern. Ariadne bites her lip.

"I know," she admits, "they just make me feel... helpless."

"We've got you," Arthur reassures her, and when Ariadne turns to look at him he's so close that their noses bump. She bites her lip, and Arthur and Eames exchange glances over her shoulder in one of their silent conversations. Ariadne doesn't speak their wordless language, so she's only half expecting it when Arthur leans that little bit closer and kisses her, taking his time the way he couldn't possibly have done on the inception job. Ariadne squeezes his hand a little tighter, feels hot all over both from Arthur's mouth and all their body heat. When the kiss breaks, Arthur is still too close for her to properly focus on, and then she is being turned to face Eames instead. There is a moment, a raised eyebrow, and then his lips are on hers, fuller and more aggressive than Arthur's.

"Um," Ariadne says eloquently, glancing between them, "what just happened?"

"We kissed you, pet," Eames says lightly, and pats her leg. "Try not to have another panic attack, okay?"

"We can talk later if you want," Arthur puts in, which is considerably more calming. "Do you feel up to grabbing a coffee or something?"

"I should try to stay clear of caffeine," Ariadne says, a little apologetically, "but if you want to hang around you can stay for dinner. Delicious Chinese take-out that I will personally pick up the phone to make appear."

Eames chuckles low in his throat and Arthur smiles at her, his cheeks dimpling.

"We'll stay."


End file.
